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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129089">Mall Santa</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassofwater/pseuds/glassofwater'>glassofwater</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Batfam stuff [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chaos, Fluff, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:06:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129089</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassofwater/pseuds/glassofwater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a tradition, spanning across three different Robins.</p><p>It was only right the newest do it too.</p><p>(requested on tumblr "Damian takes a pic with a mall santa, chaos ensues"- anon)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Batfam stuff [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mall Santa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I do not see why traveling here was necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, don’t be like that, Dami! We’re going gift shopping!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly. However, actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>going </span>
  </em>
  <span>to this cesspool of idiots is ridiculous. The internet exists for a reason, Richard. It is about time you learned how to use it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That takes all the fun out of it though,” Dick pouts, landing a hand in Damian’s perfectly combed hair. “It’s practically like a tradition at this point. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to actually look at what you’re buying and not just try and guess what it’s like through a screen. What if it wasn’t like you wanted? What then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Returns exist as well,” Damian grumbles, swatting at the hand still latched firmly to his scalp. “If the purchase is void, then a simple return is all that is necessary to begin again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For once,” Tim sighs, cringing a bit at the obnoxious mall-music and over enthusiastic sales people trying to approach him, “I agree with the brat. This is uncomfortable and just… over the top. I know what I’m looking for, and reviews on products help determine if the thing is actually good. There isn’t any reason to be here, Dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the contrary, my beloved brothers,” Dick grins, mouth stretching impossibly wide as his eyes land on something in the distance, “There is actually a fantastic reason for us to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if deciding on something, Dick nods to himself before quickly turning around and clapping his hands together. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re already here and it would be a waste to drive back after it took us an hour to get here, so we are staying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cue the simultaneous groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, ah, ah,” Dick reprimands. “Let me finish. You guys can do anything you want. It’s the freakin mall, so it’s got other stuff than just stores. I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s legal. You could even just hang out in the food court, as long as you’re doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I need to do a couple things, but I will call you when I’m done and we’ll rendezvous somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are leaving me here?” Damian asks, surprised. “With Drake of all people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick leans down to ruffle his hair again, but Damian moves away, a dark scowl edging its way onto his brow. “No, I refuse to be left alone with this imbecile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if I’d want to babysit you in the first place,” Tim mutters, glaring at the youngest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiles pleasantly, a contrast to the way he squeezes both of their shoulders tightly, pulling them closer to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not going to have any problems, right boys?” he asks sweetly, eyes crinkling. “Because it would be a shame if I had to make use of that lovely return policy on all the gifts I had planned this year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you take me for a child-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seeing as this is the last week I have left in Gotham, it would be quite the disappointment if I didn’t get to train surf with either of you before I leave again too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian shuts his mouth quickly, the idea of banning dual patrol before the eldest’s departure more threatening than lost gifts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like train surfing,” Tim says smugly, crossing his arms in victory, “and I don’t like playing babysitter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick slowly tilts his head towards him, and the strain in his smile is enough to make Tim wither a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All I’m asking for is maybe an hour of alone time while I get some stuff done. You don’t have to do anything together, you don’t have to go shopping if you’re so adamant on doing it online, and you don’t have to eat. Just please stick together. That’s all. Please, Tim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His resolve lasts all of four seconds before it crumples, and Tim looks to the side as he groans out a forlorn, “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Dick exclaims, an easy smile blooming back onto his face. “I’ll see you guys in an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, Dick disappears into the crowd, leaving behind two very disgruntled boys in his steed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there, refusing to acknowledge one another’s presence, before Tim sighs again and thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, might as well be a big brother. Holiday spirit and all that jazz.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he starts, half-way turning to face the youngest again, “Is there anything you want to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian doesn’t say a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any stores?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They, uh, have a movie theatre in here. Any movies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian still refuses to open his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, fuck me, I guess, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tim bemoans, having the inability to think of anything worse to do than spend his Saturday afternoon looking after the gremlin in his charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Damian turns on his heel and begins walking away. Tim frowns, chancing a quick glance behind him to see if Dick was secretly watching them and if he could make a break for it, but decides against it at the last second. A happy Dick Grayson was infinitely easier to deal with rather than a disappointed one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone knew disappointment was worse than anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows Damian quietly, keeping his distance and sidestepping the insane amount of people and sellers, all looking to get something. Tim doesn’t hate people, per-say. He finds them fascinating at times, but when he’s not looking to be fascinated, he just finds them uncomfortable to be around. Noisy, touchy, and all around obnoxious. There were precious few people Tim could say he liked to be around, and these strangers in the enormous mall were not them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian walked with purpose, easily evading others and taking turns as if he knew where he was going. Perhaps he did, but Tim can’t recall a time where </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them actually frequented the mall often enough to know where things were. At least without looking at a map or asking an employee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute later and Damian vanishes from sight. In a blink, he’s gone from the endless swirl of people and Tim panics slightly. How does someone lose a child so quickly? How is that possible? He was literally right in front of him, Tim had his gaze locked on the green hoodie, but it’s as if the brat was made of air. Poof, gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses, turning this way and that in search of the elusive Wayne. It was unfortunate that the brat was shorter than the average 13 year old, if only by half an inch, but now was not the time to goad over heights. Tim is tempted to just text Dick and say he lost Damian, but hearing that in his head, after literally five minutes of being alone, does not sound like a fantastic idea. He can practically predict the lecture that would follow, words of, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, I know you guys don’t get along super well, but he’s your brother,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I was gone for all of two seconds- how did he escape so easily?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim groans, a common thing he’s been doing ever since they stepped into the epitome of capitalism, and resigns himself to continuing the search. Oh, he was so going to beat the brat during their next spar. This entire thing was not worth the discounts.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Damian smirks as he watches Drake fiddle around like a fool, searching blindly for him. If Drake had actually been paying attention, he would have seen Damian step into the small candle store to the right, hiding behind an outrageous depiction of Saint Nick practically shoving some holiday scent down his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it were, though, Drake was a twit with half the brains of a goldfish, and Damian feels a sense of satisfaction wash over him as the older teen walks away in the opposite direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was free and alone. Perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, not really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian had agreed to go to the mall in the first place on the condition that it would just be he and Richard. It had sounded somewhat enjoyable, Richard hinting at some sort of surprise, but he was greatly displeased at the sight of another figure waiting for them in the car. Of all the people in the world to choose from. Of all the available and useless ignoramuses out there, Richard just had to ask Drake to come along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he immediately protested because he had been promised that it would just be the two of them, but Richard insisted and used that horribly childish face with wide eyes and saddened sulk and giving in, at that point, was the only wise decision Damian could make from then on. In no way did he plan on spending this hour with Drake, awkwardly attempting conversation and suggestions that sounded boring enough to sleep to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, his plan of action was simple and executed flawlessly. All he had to do for the next 50 minutes was stay out of sight of both Drake and Richard, and the rest of that time was his to do with as he pleased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had already chosen gifts to present later on in the week, there was no need to do extra shopping, so all there really was to do was explore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is exactly what he did for the next forty minutes before he felt his phone begin to vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out, squinting at the caller ID of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grayson</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets it ring for a few seconds, some part of him thinking the wait as some sort of pay-back for betraying his promise, and answers on the last ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damian?” Richard says, urgency coloring his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, Damian is paying more attention. “Yes? What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to meet me at the center, it’s important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The center?” Damian mutters, scanning the crowded walkways for a map. “Why? What is happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll fill you in when you get here, okay? Just get here as fast as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richard hangs up first and Damian begins searching for the nearest wall-map. He finds one and tsks when he sees he’s in the far west region of the mall, the center, if he walked like a normal person, taking upwards of about five minutes to reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been given no details, nothing except the urgent lilt in Richard’s voice, a dead give away to how nervous he was. Nervous about what though? What could possibly make Nightwing frantic in an area like this? It must be something mildly bad, or at least dangerous for civilians, for Richard to call him. Crowd control possibly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t heard anything other than the usual noise of the populace, so Damian rules out a fire or some maniac shooting. There doesn’t seem to be an urgency in the way the crowd shifts, no clear tell for panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone vibrates again and Damian immediately answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you?” Richard asks, that same nervousness pitching his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am near a clothing store: Urban Outfitters,” he responds, picking up his pace slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry,” Richard pleads. “You need to be here in two minutes or less or else I might- just hurry, please. When you reach the center, there will be a large Christmas tree off to the right. I’m over there. Find me when you get here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Richard-” but Damian can’t get anything else in before the older man hangs up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vagueness of the situation begins to worry Damian as well, doing as asked and trying his best to weave in between people and their annoying need to create a stiff, horizontal line wherever they walked. He curses when a little girl holding an absurdly shaped stuffed animal darts out in front of him, oblivious to the obstruction she’s caused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trips and falls, slapping into the smooth tile. Damian is tempted to walk around her, unmoved by her pitiable cries for her clumsiness, but when he glances back and sees no one else, no parent or sibling or literally any other bystander willing to help her, he rolls his eyes and turns back around. He holds out a hand and pulls the little girl to her feet, her tears silenced by the strange act of kindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are your parents?” he asks gruffly, anxious as the precious seconds tick by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhhh….I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should’ve kept walking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Damian thinks to himself.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Tim is practically giddy with excitement. Dick stands behind him, arms crossed and peering over the heads of countless other parents and children, in search of Damian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After having wandered around in a vain search for the brat, Tim had finally given in and texted Dick, apology in tow, when Dick had told him to meet him in the center of the mall. There, Tim had spotted the eldest standing in a long line filled with kids no older than eight and tired parents, disheveled and attempting to keep their children’s hair neat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he’d tapped on his shoulder, Dick had reared around, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he said, “It’s tradition to get a picture with Santa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim less than fondly recalls his own picture with the infamous mall Santa, the old man smelling of cigarettes and too spicy cologne to mask it. All the bat-kids had taken a photo with the cheap Santa at some point or the other, Tim having been the oldest to do so at fifteen. Dick had taken his when he was ten, and Jason at eleven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, once he registers the actual words that had come out of Dick’s mouth, Tim feels something close to euphoria rise in his chest as he now understands it was the brat’s turn to sit on off-brand Santa’s lap and have his picture taken. Oh, would that be a sight to behold. Chaos to be sure. Most likely some screaming as well. A lot of protest and cursing. Maybe even some tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sight to behold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you guys wouldn’t stick together,” Dick explains, “So I figured I’d call you over here earlier. Then, I’ll call Damian once we’re close to the front and act like it’s an emergency so he’ll have no choice but to come quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim was impressed. “You know,” he says, eyeing Dick, “You’re a lot more evil than everyone thinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The term you’re looking for is evil mastermind, Timmy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Tim jokes, excitement building in his bones as he notices they’re only two spots away from what is destined to be the greatest moment of his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look! I see him!” Dick exclaims, pointing in the far distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, there was Damian in his green hoodie, half-jogging, half-walking as he headed towards the Christmas tree Dick had directed him to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re next,” Tim says anxiously, glancing at the teenager dressed as an elf, who was probably wondering why the two of them were standing in a line meant for children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Dick reassures, his own thrill building. “He’ll be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as if one cue, because malls are where miracles happen, Damian calls out, “Richard!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick waves him over, compulsion in every movement of his arm. “Hurry, Dami!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager elf is now guiding them into the “Miracle Circle” and Dick yanks at the sleeve of Damian’s hoodie before he can even register what’s happening. Tim has to keep a hand over his mouth in order to stop himself from snickering at the bewildered look on the youngest’s face, eyes blown wide as he takes in the bright lights and tinsel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richard,” he growl-whispers, “What is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tradition,” Dick answers, tugging him closer to the overweight man sitting on the massive throne. “And it’s time you partake in it. I let you get away from it last year because I lost track of time, but not this year. This year, Dami, is where you finally experience,” he leans in closer, nearly whispering, “the joys of a mall Santa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Damian says, aghast as Dick pulls him closer and closer to the center. “No, I refuse. Unhand me this instant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is powerless though against Dick’s firm grasp and excellent navigation skills. Everyone is watching. Everyone is staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello there, little one,” mall Santa booms, arms out stretching as he reaches for Damian. “Come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you’d like for Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richard,” Damian pleads, struggling as he eyes the suspicious fake beard, “If you do this, I will never forgive you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Dami,” Dick amends solemnly, a lie written all over his face. “I have to. It’s tradition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faster than even Damian can react, Dick is sweeping him off his feet and plopping him onto the lap of a complete stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” mall Santa asks, Damian recoiling at the rank breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me go,” he demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh ho ho,” mall Santa chuckles, stomach jostling like a gross bowl of jelly. “We haven’t taken our picture yet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mall Santa points a little off to the right, and it is with horror does Damian spot not only Richard, but Drake, Father, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pennyworth aiming cameras at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drake waves at him, shit-eating grin plastered shamelessly on his face. Richard is cooing through his phone, oo-ing and awe-ing at the scene. Father looks at least a little bit sympathetic, pity spelled out over his face as he watches his youngest son try to free himself from the mall Santa’s surprisingly strong grip. Pennyworth takes one picture, quickly putting away his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian is sure that the one picture is enough to spell doom for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” mall Santa whispers, nearly suffocating Damian in the vice-like hug he’s trapped in, “Most kids smile when they take pictures with Santa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not inclined to smile for a pedophile,” Damain snarls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” mall Santa sighs, voice suddenly less cheery, “I guess that means you’re on the naughty list then, you little </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian stills in his struggle, eyes widening as he turns to meet the </span>
  <em>
    <span>green </span>
  </em>
  <span>eyes of the man who holds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Todd?” he hisses, humiliation rising as the man just chuckles, winking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy holidays, little boy,” Jason cheers, playing up the act. “If you’re good, Santa might-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, the top headline from the Gotham Gazette reads, </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Christmas Chaos: Youngest Wayne Punches Santa!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The article gets framed above the tree in their living room, and Damian waits for the day to exact his revenge.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just to, uh, fill in some gaps that weren't explicitly said but more or less implied</p><p>yes, Dick planned this from the beginning<br/>no, i can't explain how jason became santa, he's just magical like that<br/>yes, Dick called the whole fam while Damian was out exploring to make sure they could see the picture<br/>no, jason santa did not hit damian back because he is a good santa that is good with kids and would never traumatize them intentionally like that</p><p>conclusion: everyone is dumb, but they are happy, so it's fine :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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